For those of you
that don’t quite share my addiction to family research, let me assure you that
the emotional roller coaster ride I have been on in my quest to figure out
where I came from has been amazing.
Yes, finding out my ancestors came over on the Mayflower is remarkable. Or how about the fact that my
ggg Grandfather was a Doctor that served in the Civil War. I barely paid attention in history class and
now I find myself to have an interest in Abraham Lincoln and the Civil War. My dad would be so proud.

And if I go
really far back in the family tree, I am actually related to Adam and Eve. Yep, it’s true.

However, I say
roller coaster because not every story is the happy awe-inspiring fairytale
that you expect to get along the way.
Behind my fascination with genealogy are life-realities that can be a
little frightening to face, much less talk about. And I guarantee there is a story in your
tree as well.

Imagine my fear
when a cousin pointed out to me that in the 1880 census, my gg Irish
Grandmother Ellen was listed as living at an Insane Retreat. I think I stared at that one for several
days, not fully understanding the word retreat. Sounded like she was spending a day at the spa, but I’m pretty
sure the word insane wasn’t going to lead to anything good.

My heart bleeds
for her as I write this because nothing I uncovered was good news. Of course, my obsession made me keep
searching until I unearthed the full story.
That’s the least I could do for her. Give her life some dignity, and give me
an understanding for what she endured.

Is it fair to say
that having 12 children could make you crazy?
I would say a big fat yes, considering I never attempted to have even
1. Well, Ellen was a typical Irish Wife
living with a typical Irish Husband following the traditions of the Catholic
Church in Connecticut in the mid 1800’s. Women must be
subservient to their husbands, have sex for procreation only, and endure the
racial stigma of being Irish in the US during that time. Ellen was also very fertile, and had at
least 12 children in a span of 20 years (from 1853 – 1873). I believe there was also a 13th
child born in the 1850’s that died without a trace. In fact, her first 3 children (probably 4) died within 5 years of
each other, and before the 1860 census was even taken. By 1871, she had lost another daughter, and
was pregnant again in 1873 at the age of approximately 44. I’m exhausted for her.

I never did find
Ellen again in any census record after 1880, yet she lived until 1916. Oh god, where was she for 30+ years? With the help of a knowledgeable genealogist
from Connecticut, I found her 1880 record at the Connecticut Valley
Hospital. It didn’t tell me much other
than confirming which hospital she went to.

Being pulled by
the serious weight of curiosity for her life, I made a trip to the area in my
search to find Ellen’s parents and siblings.
Instead, what I found were her probate records ordering her into the
hospital in 1873 (the year of her last child’s birth). That’s not what I came to find out, but it
was the direction I was meant to go. So
I got in my car and drove down to the hospital, which
still exists today.

To say this
hospital is a creepy place is being nice.
It sits atop a bluff, overlooking a river, with beautiful views. There are a series of red brick buildings
that clearly were built over 130 years ago.
And because of some upcoming renovations, many of the older buildings
sit empty, abandoned and decrepit, broken windows and all.

As creepy looking
from the outside as this hospital was, the current administration was kind
enough to humor me and dig into the archives for any records of Ellen’s visit
in 1880. I can honestly tell you that
of all the “aha” moments I’ve had in my family research, I would have been fine
without this one coming true.

The medical
records that showed up in my mailbox consisted of 13 years of doctor’s
notes. Amazing when you consider this
was from 1873 thru 1886. The records
show that Ellen suffered from melancholy with a diagnosis that it was from
having too many children. I often
wonder if maybe she didn’t want to have sex any more for fear of getting
pregnant with #14. So she used this as
an excuse to get away? That’s a dumb
thought, but it would be very creative of her if true.

So what do I do
now with this new-found information? I
use it to keep the fire under my feet to further my research into her lineage. I still need to find her parents. They are missing and buried in CT
somewhere. I also need to find out where exactly in Ireland she was born. Hopefully one day I can unlock her past.

In conclusion, I am a passionate believer that Everyone needs to understand their roots so they can pass this knowledge onto their living descendants, warts and all. We all have ancestors in our tree with a scary story that may include criminal behavior, divorce, abandonment, mental health issues, or worse. But don’t turn your back on their lives, understand them and celebrate the fact that they gave you life. We need to enjoy the fascination of discovering where we came from. Bumpy ride and all.